pausing

So when I stepped off the plane in Dubai International Airport at approximately 3:25am on May 14, I had no idea exactly what iI was walking into. I knew, only, that I would be spending the next two weeks with my big sister, her husband and their daugher. The first thing that I noticed was that MERCY, it was hot. Even at 4:00am when I made it out of security and outside to the waitng area, it was stifling. I had to stand tehre and wait for about 10 minutes because, strangely, my plane had landed early and Alison had slept past her alarm a bit. Those time minutes, time that pre-Morocco Meredith would have been freaking out- foreign country no cel phone credit, haven't showered in a while, that might be some throw up on my jeans from this morning, wait was that yesterday morning, what day is it- passed with quick calmness before I heard my name shouted and turned to see my big sister walk running towards me. I cried, she cried, we embraced and grabbed my stuff to head to the car. Brad and Alison ushered me back to their car where we packed up and headed back to the hotel.

THe next day was a lot of culture shocked as I was forced into Dubai culture. Dubai is not your typical middle eastern city, but it is infact America on crack. For example, we ate lunch in one of the HUGE malls there. We had Taco Bell (classy, I know) but everybody else around us in line was wearing abaiya (google it) and while we bought our dozen Krispy Kreme donuts a veiled woman supervised her children enjoying their fried goodness. For me, coming from Morocco, it was like being hit with two very different worlds intertwined. First off, nothing in Morocco compares in modernity or spectacle to what Dubai offers, but nothing could really compare with the conservative Muslim culture of it. It's amazing, and something that I couldn't believe people before when they said you had to see it for yourself. You must.

After loading up on American carbs, we headed back to their home. They live in the country next to the UAE and our hot hot hour and a half long drive through the desert transported us back to a place a world away from what we left in Dubai. Their city is hot and flat and all of the buildings are painted tan. I had a pretty emotional experience as we walked into their apartment and I laid eyes on my precious 2 and a half year old niece, Lucy, who I haven't seen or held since the last time they visited the US, over a year ago.

Hamdulillah, I've been blessed with two weeks of time with all of them. Alison and Brad attend a local language school learning foosha (formal Arabic) and khaliji (local dialect). They go to school in the mornings while Lucy goes to day care. I typically sleep in a it, read, and catch up with uploading photos from Morocco (clearly I haven't been blogging...) When they get home from school/day care, we eat lunch, Lucy naps, and we spend the afternoon in the comfort of air conditiong in attempt to fight off the 100+ degree weather encroaching from outside. In the evenings we've visited with their local neighbors and friends, watched episodes of the Sing Off on tv and headed on a few adventures to get Arab food and coconut milkshakes.

Needless to say, I've had a lot of free time on my hands. I've been a little frustrated at my newfound lack of mobiility seeing as how it isn't culturally acceptable for women who go wandering out on their own, I can't speak the dialect to be able to communicate properly and it's too stinking hot to leave!

In Psalm 85:4-7 the authors cry out for God to restore them and to revive them so that they may rejoice in Him... "show us your steadfast love, O Lord, and grant us your salvation."

God has used the past two weeks as an incredible time of restoration and fellowship in my semester. I've had the opportunity to read bedtime stories to Lucy, to be filled with good conversation, to laugh a LOT and to be challenged and prepare for this summer. I cannot think of a better way to rewind from an incredible semester than in the company that I'm in now and though it is going to be incredibly difficult to walk into the airport and away from this place for the forseeable future, I will rest knowing that the marrow was sucked out of this leg of my journey.

This is (some of) what the Lord has been doing here these two weeks:

exits

I wrote this yesterday:

May 13. Cairo, Egypt.

So I'm no longer in Morocco. It hit me, and kept hitting me (approximately 9 times during my 4 1/2 hour flight) that the exit stamp in my passport will not be partner-ing with a "return" counterpart. And it's weird to think about returning. Aside from living at school, my home has always been one place- Columbiana Road, Homewood, AL- but the past four months it's become Meknes, more specifically #5 Azhar Residence on a street name I never knew, but that it's near Cafe Dimachk fi Hamria fi Meknes, Morocco.

And now I'm sitting in F8 Terminal of the Cairo International Airport waiting to board a flight to Dubai, United Arab Emirates.

But let's back up to Maroc.

My alarm rang at 5:25am, but I woke up at 6:06am to Mary-Elizabeth reprimanding me for sleeping in. I hurriedly showered and zipped my bags as 9 of my sweet friends sat in our kitchen floor, gulped coffee and milawee covered with laughing cow cheese and honey.

At 7:18, we grabbed my things and walked speedily to the train station where another friend met us. The next 7 minutes were a blur of goodbye hugs, well wishes, and me making really lame jokes while choking on tears. Mike helped me load my body bag (just kidding, kind of...) onto the train and I jumped on and then barreled through an entire train car searching for a seat. The ride was cramped but alhamdu'lillah I found a cabin with air-conditioning//

[cue man's cellphone alarm ringing the call to prayer next to me in the terminal]

// and somewhere between hours 2 and 3 I started to feel sick. I proceeded to hop out of the car, not even make it to the bathroom, and throw up in the floor of the corner of my car- while a group of Moroccan men watched me. Yeah, no more milawee for me for a while...

After this, one of the men took me to the restroom where there was, surprise, no water. During this ordeal, all of the policemen were summoned to come assist the sick girl. I told them I had medicine so that they would leave me alone. (This morning I had told ME that I didn't need to pack any medicine with me because I wouldn't get sick... right.)

Seat resumed, dozed off, felt better. Woke up by the man beside me telling me it was time for me to get off at the Casablanca station. I thanked him, grabbed the body bag and act annoyed that somebody had thrown up right in front of my exit door- seriously?

I make my way to the ticket office and then realize that I'm not in the Casa train station. Panic. I turn around and see my throw-up train start to move. Check my watch- 21 minutes till my train to the airport but how far am I from Casablanca?

(Mom, breath, this is the part where all of my world traveling experiences and down right hood-rat abilities come into play, also a LOT of "do it live.")

So I got a taxi driver- the smiliest of the bunch and asked him how much to the Casa trainstation. He said 100dirhams, I said 30dirhams. Deal. I suck up my fear of sounding like a snotty tourist and tell him, in arabic that I needed to be there, like, RIGHT NOW.

13 minutes to go. Man, impressively, gives me a quick tour of our current city- Ain Sebaa- and navigates Casa traffic in time for me to full on sprint- Amazing Race style- to the train just as the doors shut in front of me. Don't you do this to me, 11:07 train to the airport, don't be like this. Luckily, I had caused enough of a scene so that the station master flagged down the train for me. Roll tide.

So, in appropriate African fashion, I left Morocco sweating and flustered to which I rewarded myself with spending my last 20dirhams on a Poms at the airport.

Where you hang your hat

Home is wherever I'm with you.


In light of recent events, I feel it’s only appropriate to talk about home. Last Wednesday, the state of Alabama was hit with a wave of forceful and devastating tornados. Among the places scattered all along the state that were hit hard, my city, Tuscaloosa, was hit the worst. Outside of my place of birth and residency for my first 18 years of life in Birmingham, Tuscaloosa is my home. It’s where my school is, where my community of friends is, where I worship at church. It’s where we have Taco Casa Tuesdays and walk along the river walk, spend way too much time in a football stadium and quadlay listening to the chimes. It’s my Tuscaloosa, and I share it with people that I love, it’s home.

Tuscaloosa was hit by a tornado approximately a mile wide. Buildings. Streets. People. Gone. I woke up on Thursday morning, check my email and the subject line of an email from my mom is “Lesley is fine.” Alhamdu’lillah, my sister (Lesley) and all of my friends have been accounted for, but the destruction that surrounds them is astounding.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/thecrimsonwhite/sets/

It felt numb first looking at the pictures. The photos, the news articles, the tweets, messages and emails. It’s all too overwhelming to really digest for me. The only words that my friends can describe it with is devastation- like a nightmare. And it hurts my heart so badly that I cannot be there to hug them and hold them and serve alongside them as they pick up our city and care for those who lost so much more. Thousands of people throughout the state lost everything. Tuscaloosa county has reported several hundred people still missing, while lots of cities are just now recovering power, many others are still without running water and basic necessities for life. The state of Alabama received a number 1 ranking on natural disasters- the same as Hurricane Katrina in 2005. President Obama traveled down south this weekend to show his support and celebrities are donating money to help out. This is my Sweet Home Alabama.
The only peace that I can find in this situation- seeing my earthly home flattened- is to remember the creator of that home and his complete sovereignty over the situation. I know that God is real in the way that I see my friends and family loving others. It’s not a love out of selfishness, but out of an overflowing of a heart filled with Jesus. I delight in seeing how my community of friends has found ways to serve helping out through my church in Tuscaloosa and also how those that have returned home have found ways to plug in and help there. Mostly, I am encouraged beyond measure by their faithfulness in prayer and service to those around them. Hah, it makes me realize how selfish I can be that I can sit, perfectly safe, in my room in Morocco and be so torn up over places when my friends back home are picking trees out of their living rooms and singing praises to the Father through it all.

For I know that my Redeemer lives, and at last he will stand upon the earth. And after my skin has been thus destroyed, yet in my flesh I shall see God, whom I shall see for myself, and my eyes shall behold, and not another. My heart faints within me!” Job 19:25-27

http://rebekahgraceann.tumblr.com/post/5196531059/1-week-ago-1-week-away-half-way-in-between
My friend Rebekah’s blog post.

To complicate things, I found out about this on Thursday morning my time. Thursday afternoon, as I was stepping off the train for a day trip to Fes, we received word that a tourist café in Marrakesh had been bombed. Now, to update you on Moroccan geography, Marrakesh is a good 8 hours away. But when you hear that, no matter where, your heart jumps. We find out later, that a suicide bomber walked into the Argan Café- a place where I stood outside of only a few weeks ago- in the middle of the Dar al-Jma main square (and we are talking about HUGE crazy busy middle of the medina square) and after drinking a glass of orange juice set off a remotely detonated bomb. Here’s a better story:
http://www.google.com/hostednews/afp/article/ALeqM5hmpuF6FVMwrN0sEItXMEH_qNPthg?docId=CNG.91972912fabf7299c7e323bb4a885f3b.701

In addition to this, campus hasn’t exactly been peachy keen either. For the past two weeks Moroccan students have been on strike against the campus administration at our University. Actually, this gets fuzzy and very “Moroccan” because depending on who you talk to, they are protesting for different reasons. Regardless, Moroccan classes have been suspended (but not the classes for American students). Protests at the end of last week got violent and for a while there were rumors that several students and policemen had died. Alhamdu’lillah- nobody was killed. Though there might have been some minor injuries, everybody walked out alright.

It would be easy to be disgruntled and negatively impact by all of this violence and destruction, but I’m learning how to draw into the arms of God for it all. I’ve never had to repeat the word ABIDE so much to myself. It’s written on my hand in an effort that it would be imprinted on my heart. My friends, we live in a dark and fallen world. Tornados happen, bombings happen, death and violence and over-reaction are daily occurences, and without the sovereignty of God, we would have plenty of reason to fret over it all. If He’s good enough for my friend to crawl out of rubble, praising his name in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, then He is certainly enough for me. If He is good enough to grant me salvation in spite of my daily doubt and negativity and uncertainty, that He is more than enough for me.

Please join me in praying for my early homes. Alabama and Morocco. Both have been shaken deeply, but I have hope that neither is destroyed.
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